


A Familiar Face, An Unknown Offer

by raijuthehyeju



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Ableist Language, Crew as Family, Cybernetics, F/F, Mirror Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 08:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19247812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raijuthehyeju/pseuds/raijuthehyeju
Summary: When stranded in a world that kindness is seen as weakness, you're not in a position to refuse offers.Or: what happens when a Number One from another ship happens to be you.But not really.





	A Familiar Face, An Unknown Offer

**Author's Note:**

> kinda takes place before 1x10??? before culber bites it but still on day 2 of disco being stranded in the hell world || gay love is both a universal savior AND universal constant, it seems || i'm on a flight layover so i'd thought i'd finish this so unbeta'd || AKA my answer as to how discovery was able to stay undetected in the mirrorverse for so long || raijuthehyeju on twitter || thanks and god bless

The whole “knife in the planet” logo was getting boring already.

It looked _kinda_ cool, Keyla Detmer thought as the turbolift’s newly branded doors carried her to the crew quarters deck. A little self-defeating, perhaps? Uninspired. Overdramatic, even. If your empire’s purpose was to “dominate the galaxy,” why would you want a dagger plunging into your _own_ planet? Wouldn’t you want it pointing at the galaxy or something? Where -and _what-_ was the thought process behind it all?

This was a stupid train of thought, admittedly.

But it was the little thoughts like this that distracted her (and the crew) from the overall horror of being trapped in another universe.

And before she knew it, Keyla’s feet had carried her to her single Lieutenant’s quarter’s, the Navigator trotting inside and fwumping backwards into the twin bed’s sheets with a hefty sigh.

It had been two days since Keyla was shifted from her bridge post and sent to work in general helm control transmission maintenance, only permitted to be on the bridge for a handful of minutes at a time, since her Terran counterpart was neither stationed on Discovery _nor_ had a cybernetic augmentation imbedded in half her skull. The brief windows she was allotted to return to her post for navigation diagnotics were the only real relief she’d feel in this hell dimension, thin hands flying to familiar buttons and prompts at Discovery’s UI. This bridge had begun more and more to feel like home, like a _crew_ rather than a bunch of scrapped-together nerds trying to hold a militaristic face, and she was missing them. Even despite the circumstances of Discovery’s compliment being held captive in this universe, while she didn’t much care for Lorca’s demeanor, Keyla at least wanted Burnham back safe and sound with their Captain. The Navigator’s hands were itching to be at her console again, itching for something _productive_ to do, to be at Lieutenant Owosekun’s side again and piloting their-- _the_ ship into the unknown. It was her job, she was _good_ at it, and she was just beginning to feel at home in that seat.

She missed it.

And that feeling of missing a bridge, her crew, and her post was beginning to turn a war-hardened heart tender again, even in a hellish world like this.

“ _ <Incoming transmission. Priority level: high.>” _

Keyla sat up immediately, brow furrowing.

“Computer, who from?”

_“ <Classified.>” _

“‘Classified?’” Keyla repeated, getting up and off the bed, “who could it be on Discovery that’s classified, especially under these circumstances? Can I at least have a subject line, or--”

_“ <Cl--c-ccclassified. Prio--rororitttyyyyyy-yy-->” _

Before she had a chance to react, a hologram’s visage suddenly blinked  into existence.

And Keyla Detmer, in her horror, knew exactly who it was.

A harshly cut redheaded bob. Strong cheekbones. Tired, dark blue eyes. A tall, thin frame donned in the Terran Empire’s black and gold uniforms, fingerless gloves folding over -what the rank insignia told her to be- a Commander’s badge.

No cortical implant.

She didn’t know. She didn’t have to endure it.

It was her.  
Kind of.  
That was _her_ face. _Used_ to be her face.

And Lieutenant Keyla Detmer was, admittedly, frozen; out of fear, out of shock, of discovery, of looking at a face she’d spent months coming to terms with was now a memory, that this Keyla, _this_ Detmer didn’t know the pain of it all, that--

“Oh, eugh- what happened to _you?”_ the Commander asked with a clearly disgusted grimace. “I mean I saw it in your manifest photo, but _ouch_. Got any _actual_ brain left in there? _”_

Keyla’s jaw tightened and her hands clasped together tighter behind her back.

She blinked.

So that’s how it was going to be.

The Lieutenant took a step forward, swallowing and holding her head as high as she could.

And a bionic eye refocused with the twitch of a lid.

“I... didn’t expect this conversation to take _less_ than five minutes before you delved into some sort of derogatory and ableist comment about my disability,” Keyla told back cooly, “but good to know that your Empire’s reputation of bigotry and generally awful nature precedes you.”

“Bigotry? Hardly,” she crooned, “call it foresight. A pride in personal strength- as opposed to the rest of that _filth_ out there.”

Keyla’s skin was practically crawling from these words, hearing her _own voice_ say these things--

“Amazing, though,” the Commander continued, “to see you in person, you know? Hear you actually _speak_ in that polite little uniform of yours… what did the report about the Defiant say in regards to descriptions of “the Federation’s crew?” Ah, yes, that’s right; ‘Same soul,’” Commander Detmer pointed out, looking to the Lieutenant’s implant.

“‘Different bodies.’”

The edge of Keyla’s mouth twitched and an anger burned behind her eyes.

 _You know_ nothing  _of what I've been through_ _, you shitty little--_

“Why did you contact me.”

“Because I need someone at the helm, and that someone is you. Someone near those consoles to ensure what I’m about to tell you will actually go through. Someone who’s good at their job, _knows_ what they’re doing,” Commander Detmer told, “and who knew: I might actually _trust_ _myself_ to keep her mouth shut when I require her to. Figure that.”   
“I’ll give _your_ self-confidence a point over mine, then.”   
“Here’s hoping it’s infectious.”

Keyla allowed a pause to hang as she looked over the Commander. “You have my ship, her crew, _me,_ in… certainly a situation, Commander Detmer,” Keyla began to asses, swallowing in dawning realization. “You contacting Discovery like this means you know that this is _not_ an ISS ship. You being able to access Discovery’s true crew manifest means you know that this is _not_ an ISS compliment, or any resident accounted for in this universe. And you contacting me, you contacting _you,_ is…”

“Bravo, self,” the Commander told. “I’ll give you this- what you lack in immediate confidence, I praise you for in affirmational, methodical deduction.”

The Lieutenant sighed. “Yet my deduction has not answered my initial question in full,” Keyla pointed out, stopping before the hologram and holding her head evenly. “Why did you contact _me,_ Commander. And why contact me at all.”

“Because I was nearly _Captain_ is why, Lieutenant,” Detmer informed her. “Ca… no, I’m not even going to give him that courtesy- _Commander_ Connor is dead because the idiot thought he could ram his way to the top. Again. Over me- _us,_ for that matter. Like some fool-hardy puppy ready to show how strong his bite is when it could hardly draw blood. He couldn’t even get the crew fully down on one knee when he was made Acting Captain, y'know? But apparently, the Burnham’s of both worlds know how to handle themselves. Pretty dramatic entrance, his body falling out of the turbolift like that- I’ll at least give her _that_ credit for a return onto the bridge.”

Connor was dead?  
Connor was dead.  
Again.

Wait, what did Burnham do?--

Commander Detmer continued. “I _know_ Captain Tilly. Whoever I hear on the comm is, to her credit, doing a damned good job, but is _not_ Captain Tilly. And for the Shenzhou? I _knew_ our Captain, Detmer, I’m her Number One; This Captain is _not_ Captain Burnham. And if this is _not_ Captain Burnham, and _our_ Burnham is truly gone... then _I_ would like to be Captain.”

Wow. Shit. Number One? _Captain_ ?   
Maybe she should give herself some self-confidence points, after all.

So Keyla began to mentally fit the pieces together.  
And suddenly, they all clicked together to form a massive, politically motivated, greedily painted picture.

“...You want us out of here, don’t you.”

The Commander nodded. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Then why not just eliminate her?” Keyla pried, inwardly recoiling at how fast the implication of _murdering Burnham_ came out of her mouth. “I’ve seen your records, and-- not to say that I _approve_ in any way, but I _am_ surprised our noodle arms can snap that many necks--”

“Just because I want the captain’s chair back doesn’t make me stupid,” the Commander replied, almost looking offended Keyla would even pose such a ridiculous scenario. “I have to play my cards right. Burnham returning is a great test to empirical allegiance for either the way things could _possibly_ be ran, or the way _Burnham_ ran things- which, effectively, made it the way the _Emperor_ ran things. I want to give the Shenzhou a _Captain-_ not a _puppet._ ”

“So you want to play chess... without having to move any of the pieces yourself,” Keyla deduced.   
“Hardly,” the Commander offered back, “I rather enjoy chess. But considering the circumstances now, I call my next moves ‘utilizing some pawns.’ And considering _your_ circumstances, wouldn’t you want a little bit of control over where Discovery’s piece goes on the board?”   
Keyla couldn’t exactly argue with that.

So she wrapped her lips in and brought her gaze back up to look Detmer in the face.

“What do you need me to do.”

“I’ve been cloaking your true quantum signature as long as I could remotely,” the Commander told, “but to continue any further and keep the Empire’s algorithm’s sensors fooled, I’m going to need direct access or permission to run an active subroutine signature buffer to at least one Helm port. I _could_ hack it remotely, but it takes a lot less time and effort on my end if someone opens the door for me. And it just so happens that I, Keyla Detmer,” she told, “also seem to be sitting in at least one Helm port seat as Navigator on the Discovery.”

Keyla’s face fell. “You’re asking me to relinquish, or-- _remove_ security protocols at my station so you can sneak in your own signature buffer?”

“That’s the idea of it.”

Keyla swallowed. “I mean… this isn’t something I can decide on my own, my acting Capta--”  
“No.” The Commander shook her head. “No. Tell no one. Keep your guards up. _Your_ crew already having Burnham in the most important position on this ship is _already_ almost too much reassurance and comfort. You need to be on alert, and if I do anything else remotely without any direct access, not only will this signal be traceable back to _me_ , but will also immediately alert the rest of the Empire’s relays and ships onto your ruse.”

“You _do_ realize I could be… removed from duty, confined to brig, even _court martialed_ for the amount of trouble I could get in if I--”   
“And that’s why you’re going to be sneaky about it,” Commander Detmer insinuated.

“I-I’d be doing this without the permission of my superiors-”

The Commander rolled her eyes. “You’re simply _dripping_ with scout’s honor.”

“...What will you do if I tell my crew? And _how_ will you know?”   
The Commander’s grin was practically unsettling. “You don’t think I took some precautions before contacting you like this? Your quarters’ personal computer, your PADD isn’t logging any of this for proof. Aaand from the looks of it, I don’t think you can exactly afford _anything else_ blowing up in your face, Lieutenant.”

Keyla merely swallowed.

“How can I trust you.”

“Trust yourself,” the Commander crooned. “You’re the most valuable ally you have, after all. You think I want to give up the Captain’s chair so easily?”  
“If you’re contacting yourself from another universe and cornering her into a sabotage, then I’m going to assume no.”

“Good.” Commander Detmer leaned back into her chair like a regent would a throne. “Good. Here’s hoping you and your crew have a pla--”

Keyla’s heart shot with adrenaline at the ping of an incoming voicemail interrupting the Commander, mouth shuddering as the computer’s AI spoke and Commander Detmer sat upright.

“ _ <Voice message: Lieutenant Joann Owosekun. Priority: high. Automatic speaker playback: initiated.>” _

Commander Detmer’s eyes widened as Keyla looked back to her quarters’ holo-display, trying to stop it or at least find her PADD, “No no no Computer cance--”

“ _ <Keylaaa!> _ ” Joann voice called, sounding bright as stars, Keyla desperately trying to hold back a smile from cracking her panic riddled face. _“ <I’m going to assume that either your PADD is on silent, again, or you’re getting ready for your shift... anyway, I noticed our Alphas end at the same time, so how do you feel about sparring at 1500 hours? I’m up for a rematch after last session; nobody makes me eat it twice in a row like that, much less with Rhys watching. But… truth is- this place has me on edge. And I need an outlet. Think we all do, really. ...See you on the bridge, Lieutenant. Think about i-->” _

“ _< End message.>” _

Keyla finally found her PADD and halted the message’s automatic playback settings, sighing in relief as she brought her attention back to the Terran. Her thudding chest, rivaling in both anxiety and adoration-related giddiness for Joann, slowed as she looked, truly looked at the Terran Commander, who seemed to be… squirming? In her seat? And looking wide-eyed?

“Something wrong, Commander?”

Commander Detmer shook her head some. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just-- didn’t expect to be interrupted by Commander _Owosekun_ , Lieutenant.”

Keyla’s eyes thinned and her head leaned in some, trying to get to the bottom of this. “There’s not a record of an Owosekun on the Shenzhou, from what I recall…”

“Y-yes, she went to. Uhm. She used to be, she’s stationed on the Charon. W-with the Emperor. Yeah. Mhm. I recall she was your-- _Discovery’s_ Ops. Officer, but it’s-- interesting to hear her. Here.”

Oh Keyla knew _exactly_ what this was now. The collar tug, the fidgeting in her seat and avoiding eye contact: everything.

Fucking hell. 

Really?   
_Really?_

Was Keyla Detmer’s unspoken crush on Lieutenant Owosekun _really_ a universal constant, of all things?

Keyla’s grin widened into a smarmy, satisfied, knowing expression that could only be rivaled by the squint of the eyes she was giving the Commander, watching her other self’s ears turn pink and her gaze turn away from Keyla’s...

Damn, did it feel satisfying to have some personally-applicable dirt she could rub in someone else's eyes.  
And on a Terran, of all people.

“Looks like you were right, Commander Detmer,” Keyla humored. “‘Different bodies…’”  
The Terran’s head began to turn back towards Keyla with a blush-tinged grimace.  
“‘Same soul.’”

And Lieutenant Keyla Detmer watched as Commander Keyla Detmer sighed begrudgingly through a hologram’s noise filter.

“You have your job, Lieutenant. My override will request access at exactly 1900 hours.”

Keyla chewed the inside of her lip.   
“And for the rest of my crew’s sake- consider it accomplished, Commander.”

  
The transmission fizzled out.

And Keyla closed her eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“...I’m going to need direct access or permission of running an active subroutine to at least one Helm port. And it just so happens that I,_ Keyla Detmer, _also seem to be sitting in at least one Helm port seat as a Navigator on the Discovery.”_

 _““You’re asking me to relinquish, or-- ignore security protocols on my station so you can sneak in your own signature buffer?”_ _  
_ _“No. ...no. Tell no one. Keep your guards up. Your crew already having a person in the most important position on this ship is already nearly too much of a reassurance and comfort. You--”_

“I’ve seen everything I need to, Lieutenant.”

With a mental command, Detmer paused the recording that her implant had taken near the start of her and… well, _herself’s_ , conversation, Acting Captain Saru beginning his own mental evaluation of their talk. Her recording had synced to a screen of Discovery’s UI in Captain Lorca’s temporarily-vacant ready room, the navigator blinking as she re-orientated her vision of that, retrospectively, terrifying exchange. The Navigator was still impressed and pleased she’d been able to hold her own against the scheming Commander; even Saru, for all the stress the Kelpien was currently under, seemed proud in his own way, looking down to Detmer as she allowed herself a bashful, professional nod.

“Clever of you to start a recording under her nose like that.”

“Just utilizing my resources, sir,” Keyla pointed out. “Ones that she, obviously, is unaware of in capability.”   
“Quite. ...Are you confident that she will keep her word and we should not fall back?”   
“This whole situation is steeped in heavy political context, from my assessment and her allusions,” Keyla admitted, “so she certainly has some reasoning to back up claimed intentions. For now, as much as I hate to admit it... I believe we can trust her intent, Commander. But no further than that. I will allow her access for a custom quantum signature cloaking buffer override, but anything else may be disconcerting.”

“The fact that she was able to penetrate our subspace transmission shielding is already disconcerting enough,” Saru mused, even as a hand went to rub where his threat ganglia could erupt from, “but she has an offer we are not in a position to refuse. Allow Commander Detmer’s transmission through to your console, and for your sake, I will act none the wiser. I only thank you for taking the risk to warn me.”

Keyla nodded. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Very good. Dismissed.”

She firmed her lip in a tight expression, turning to head out of Lorca’s Ready Room.

“...Lieutenant?”

Keyla paused to turn back to Saru, who clicked and lowered his head at her in acknowledgement.

“Although I cannot assume responsibility for Commander Detmer’s words, I am… sorry,” he began, “for the derogatory comments she made regarding your augmentations. You are an officer who does not deserve that ridicule, much less to be mocked by your other self.”

Her brow knitted upward and she offered a meek smile to Saru.

“And I thank you for trusting me,” she followed up with. “She may have deleted the log of her transmission as to… make it all seem like a secret, like you wouldn't trust me if I didn't have a recording of her… if I may speak candidly, Commander?”  
Saru waved his long fingers. “Permission granted.”   
Keyla’s smile widened a little further. “Something tells me she underestimates this ship. ...All of us, for that matter.”

Saru clicked, his own face softening in the closest semblance to a human smile he could muster.

“We’ve made it through quite a lot- haven’t we, Lieutenant.”

She didn’t need an implant to see the nostalgia swimming in the Commander’s eyes. The laughs from Shenzhou’s bridge, the quips she’d overhear Burnham and Saru throwing each other, the sarcasm from Georgiou’s reprimands… and eventually the evacuation of the old girl, half of Keyla’s face bleeding with a mangled eye hanging from a brutalized socket, and a crewmate pulling her from the explosion of a navigation console.

But those memories were now sharing a space with new ones. Jokes told over lunches in Discovery’s shiny new Mess Hall. Keyla’s expression painted with wonder during Tilly’s secret tour of the Cultivation Chamber. The doctors in Sickbay who knew her out of care and concern as a patient and a crewmate. The Bridge Crew’s first movie night, and the uncountable butterflies that fluttered in her chest at the memory of drunkly squeezing Joann’s hand for all it was worth.

And Keyla found a wide grin cracking despite the horrible pressure from the Terran Empire at their doorstep.

“We certainly have, Sir.”


End file.
